Missions Adventures #2: Honduras

It was the summer of 2008, right before my freshman year of high school, when I had the opportunity to go to Honduras with an incredible team from my church. I remember being very excited, but not very sure about it at the same time... I was scared. Not about going to a different country, though. I don't even think it hit me that I was 14 years old and going to a foreign country without any of my family. Truthfully, I was scared that God would "call me to the mission field." I put that phrase in quotes because now, after more growth, I think that every person is called to the mission field. I think that a stay at home mom with three temper-tantrum children is on her mission field. I think that a successful businessman sitting in meetings all day is on his mission field. I think that the single parent working 3 jobs just to make ends meet is on their mission field. I think that the teenager at a party is on their missions field. God's "field" isn't necessarily a village in Africa like us Christians like to think of it as. God's field is anywhere that lost people are. And, well, you know as well as I do that that's everywhere! Anyhow, 4 years ago when I was going to Honduras, I was scared that God was calling me to the Africa sort of field where I would only see my family every 5 years and I would never have running water. Now, if you know me at all, you're probably laughing. Don't worry, when I was reading my journal from that summer I laughed too.

My first journal entry from this trip was written when I was on the airplane. I mentioned that I was excited, but nervous. Looking back on it, I had no idea what I was in for!! Less than 24 hours after we arrived I wrote this "I've already been changed. Just seeing poor, broken people is all it takes... I have to do something to help these hurt, broken-hearted people." Reading these words again, brings tears to my eyes as I remember the things that I saw that week. But, at the same time, I smile. I smile because that's the first time I remember realizing that the very thing I was scared about was becoming real... God was calling me. His call didn't come in the form of a loud voice, a burning bush, or a flood. I did, though, hear God's voice. I heard His voice in the sound of little orphans running through the streets. I felt His love in the hugs of children clinging onto me. I saw His compassion when I, for the first time in my life, witnessed true poverty. I'm not talking about not having cable TV. I'm talking about not knowing whether or not you're going to eat tomorrow.

Up to that point in my life, I had never seen poverty like I saw it that week. One of the memories that has stuck with me since Honduras is our team leader explaining to us that in Honduras they don't bury people once they die like we do in America. But instead, they put them in coffins and leave them in fields. When people are roaming the streets at night (like so many people do) they will take the dead body out of the coffin and hide in there in order to escape from the gangs that are threatening their lives. It is a heart-breaking reality that happens all over the world.

In Honduras, we went to a lot of schools to perform a drama, do a craft, or just love on the kids. We went to a prison and were able to tell men who had literally murdered people that Jesus died for them. We helped a local church and orphanage which was also where we stayed. On Sunday June 29, 2008 I wrote in my journal about helping out in different churches' Sunday School programs. I wrote "It's so crazy how a 7 year old can change your whole outlook on life... being here only for a couple days makes me feel like this is what I'm called to." Yes, I finally admitted it=)

For the rest of that summer, I continued to write about how much I missed Honduras. All I wanted was to go back. It doesn't really make sense that I wanted to go to a place where there were a lot of hurting people, no clean water, and more violence than security. But, this was just the first of what I like to call "missions hangovers" that I would experience. I've come to be very familiar with this term. Every time I've come back from a missions trip I've gone through a missions hangover. It's a period of time when "reality" hits in. The reality that I live in a safe neighborhood in a free country with two parents who love me vey much, running water, a TV, a bed, a pantry and two refrigerators filled with food, a closet filled with clothes, and more Bibles than most people groups in the world have. It's not fair. I would love to be able to say that every time I come back from a missions trip it gets a little easier. But I would be lying if I did. Truthfully, it gets harder each time. In my next few blogs, you'll read about some of the hardest times of my life which have inconsequently immediately followed a missions trip.

Honduras will always be close to my heart. It's the place where I fell in love. I fell in love with the Savior of the universe who, I discovered, doesn't just live in America. I fell in love with children with deep brown eyes who simply want to be loved. I fell in love with gang members who will probably never leave prison. But, mostly, I fell in love with a place. A place that I've discovered can really be anywhere that you allow it to be. A place where Jesus is constantly sending people. A place where you are every single day: the mission field.